Blind to the Light
by Blueberry-the-Belle
Summary: Jane Noir is taken under the Phantom's wing after being found abused in an alley near the opera house. She became Erik's caretaker during his raving moments and dramatic lapses. Being thought insane, Jane only worked in the unseen portions of the opera until Christine's big night in Hannibal. As both women grow, Erik will have to make a choice. Will he be able to?
1. The Enigma that is Jane Noir

Christine was only 13 when Jane was rescued just outside of the opera house. It was an unusual summer night, dark, roiling clouds blanketed the sky with the threat of rain, but only a strong wind, the north wind, to be exact, blew through the empty streets of Paris. Only a party of three unsavory characters could be spotted, chasing their fare, a young woman in a tattered gown. The wind swept up her desperate cries for help, stealing her voice and the deranged cackling of her perpetrators.

She had managed to outrun them until she reached the alleyway next to the opera house, one that the Phantom used frequently, not that any of the four knew that as they each found themselves trapped in the surprisingly dark alley. What Jane thought was a throughway, was actually a man-made dead end with only a small window to give the illusion of escape. She whipped around to see how close the gang was only to meet one of their fists head on. Her body crumbled to the cold and dirty floor as a foot collided with her unprotected stomach, pain overwhelming her mind and silencing her screams. Something warm trickled down her face, tickling her senses with the foul taste of iron as it slid into her mouth, she was bleeding.

The assault continued for what seemed like forever, punching her ribs, kicking her arms, legs, her head. Everything ached and screamed for relief. She sent her last prayer to god through the haze that she knew to be death, she had never believed in him but now was as good a time as any to ask for salvation.

The worst of it was the curses. The horrible things they called her,

"You crazy cunt!"

"Witch!"

"Why don't you just die!"

"Thought you could just be one of us? No one would accept a crazy bitch like you!"

"Yeah! Learn your place, psycho!"

Jane thought it would never end, the pain and the insults echoed in her mind. Flashes of her life, like they talk about in penny dreadfuls for those close to death, started playing behind her tightly closed eyes. A song, one she heard while selling matches outside a music hall, played dimly as she saw faces of family she never really knew, the scornful looks from strangers on the street, watching her love run away into the arms of another woman. Suddenly, death didn't seem so horrible, as it didn't seem like life was much better. As her body numbed to the pain, countless bruises and broken bones, she dreamed of an angel to fly down and save her. She slipped into unconsciousness under the laughing of the villains.

Meanwhile, the opera ghost, a young man named Erik, was on his way to buy materials under the cover of night when he heard some commotion from one of his more accessible entrances. He looked through a hidden hole only to see 3 dirty men kicking what at first looked like a pile of rags but upon closer inspection, was in fact, a young woman, quietly moaning as he heard a rib crack under the pressure of a quite hard kick. He was about to leave through another door, a it wasn't his business, Erik felt the world was full of hatred and he wanted no part in chivalry only to have them shy away from his face.

However, before he could fully walk away, the insults they had been spitting at the unfortunate woman reach his ears. She was as unwanted as she. Perhaps...

Now was no time for thinking as he had no idea how long they had been beating her and it was only a matter of time before her life left her frail body. He quickly climbed to a vantage point where he could access the roof and would be right on top of them. They would never see it coming.

Jane awoke to the sound of screams, different from the gleeful cries of her attackers that rattled her brain. Squinting up toward the sky, she saw a great being flying down toward her, the angel had finally come for her. With that, she finally gave into her body's exhaustion.

Erik made quick work of the three boys. Even though they were strong enough to break a woman's ribs, they were barely out of puberty, frail little things that gave away quickly under his strong fingers.

Once they were disposed of, Erik turned toward the now unconscious woman. He checked her pulse, weak but steady. Her face was too abused to consider possible identification, much less beauty. Not that anyone could be more beautiful than Christine in Erik's eyes. Or have a more beautiful voice, just perfection incarnate.

He was brought out of thoughts as the woman groaned in his arms. He needed to get her medical treatment right away.

As the woman healed, she informed him of her name, Jane Noir. Her face healed and Erik was slightly disappointed, she was normal, an average Parisian, nothing special or extraordinarily beautiful, but he would find out what made her so condemned by even the lowest tiers of society.

Over the next fews days as he convinced her that he was not an angel and that she was very much alive, he learned that her "insanity" was more of an outspoken attitude and an unusual intelligence for her age, social status and her sex. Normally, women in the gutter know only the basics to survive, procreate, and make a small living out of the combination of the two. She claimed to be able to clean better than most professional maids, having been trained by a royal maid when she was just a small urchin and her skills at minor construction were clearly expressed when he found her in his workroom making adjustments to the swan bed he had been working on for almost 5 years. He was stuck on how to curve the neck just so and add detail to the wings without scratching the wood. Her advise was like a candle in the dark, and he was able to make the adjustments and continue with the next section.

"Where did you come from Mrs. Noir?" He asked her one day over a small dinner she had prepared. He wouldn't admit for years to come, but it was better than anything he had made before.

She looked up from her plate and made eye contact, something he wasn't used to due to his deformity and equally terrifying mask, it didn't seem to bother her though.

"It's Miss Noir, sir. And honestly, I couldn't tell you, my memories begin in the gutter and will most likely end in the gutter." Without another word she continued eating.

The next day, Erik was able to convince Madame Giry to employ her as a cleaning/stage hand girl, an unusual job title in those days. Jane proved herself to be a sturdy, hard worker, and kept most of the men away because of her "insanity" (most of them didn't like being outspoken or outsmarted by a woman). She was able to befriend some of the quieter stagehands, ones with big dreams but quiet minds. However, she always came back to Erik at the end of the day or after a few days during a busy season. Madame Giry gave her a small room connected with the ballerina barracks but Erik had also made a bedroom for her down in his caves. She was able to freely sleep in both of them. The ballerinas did not care for her though, and she much prefered Erik's company to a troupe of simple minded women.

During their years of companionable friendship, Jane never asked about, yet never avoided his mask. She made eye contact but didn't stare and politely turned her back when he came out of his room without it.

One night, though, he fell sick after not eating or sleeping for too many days in a row. Jane knew that Christine Daae, his prodigy, must have thrown a fit or done something to upset him. As she's lived with Erik, she's learned about the one thing she must never question, and that is his loyalty to the swedish orphan. She's seen the girl and heard her and even interacted with her a few times and only seen a shallow girl with starry dreams of a musical angel. The one time she said anything, she quickly learned never to again. Erik didn't speak to her for 3 days, only breaking when she made his favorite meal. They had a clipped and short conversation but it was better than absolute silence. Their friendship regrew over time but Jane never said anything about Christine to Erik again.

This sickness, however, was not the first and it would not be the last. It was extremely bad this time, unlike Jane had seen in his friend. She knew that girl was at fault and a pit of hatred turned her stomach as she watched her friend curl up in misery. Now was not the time for dramatics though, she had to care for him as he first cared for her. She took care of his during his sweats and chills and delusional mumblings. Due to the length of his sickness, his mask had to come off to prevent a rash from forming. At first, he resisted her but she was persistent, gently talking him through what she was going to do, as if to a child.

"Erik, I need to clean your face."

"No! Don't look! M-M...monster!"

"Erik, it will only hurt more. There's no monster."

The fever took over enough that she was able to get the mask off. He waited for her response when she removed it, but instead she gently cleaned his scars of building and sweat, the rag was cool on his knotted skin. Tears crept down his face at the relief and the acceptance and she wiped those away too and cleaned the mask. He eventually relaxed under her care and fell asleep, dreamless and quiet.


	2. Lion's Claws

Time is often said to fly as though on the wings of Hermes himself, when in the company of friends. Jane and Erik became strong friends in their years of companionable existence. She took over the chores of cooking and cleaning around the lair, not that Erik would ever admit that her skills were superior to his. Yet, every time she spent more than a few days out of her home and in the ballerina barracks, she would come back and he would be almost ravenous, indicating that he hadn't eaten. She never said anything, though, preferring a peaceful silence as he wolfed down whatever she cooked.

Things continued this way for years, sometimes finding the two in the library reading for hours on end. Erik taught her English and Persian for their interactions with contractors and his old friend, "daroga", though he never revealed his real name. The first time Jane meet the man, both were more than surprised, for different reasons.

Jane had been puttering in the workroom, cleaning up Erik's usual mess of shavings and crumpled idea drafts. She was humming quietly to herself, something she heard Erik composing on his organ the other day, not that she would ever let him know she loved to listen. Music was for him and his 'angel.' The word was bitter in her mind, causing her to pause in her own soft music. She was in no way musically talented, but it was enough for her to quietly sing or hum when by herself, enjoying the way the sound bounced off the cave walls, like some kind of distorted cathedral. She would love to share in her friend's love of music, but she knew he only had ears for the wanna-be diva upstairs.

Sighing, Jane shook her head, now was not the time to be mulling over such negative thoughts, she had to get their home clean for a guest. Erik had told her that this friend was from the very beginning of his past, someone who had known him during the dark ages of Erik's childhood. He didn't give her much else, but emphasized that the lair was to be spotless before he got back from Christine's lesson. Jane didn't mind cleaning, that's what she was paid to do, so she took to it without a fuss. She had just finished sweeping all the shavings in the bin when a voice from behind her spoke, "Christine?"

The scream could be heard throughout the catacombs. Jane whipped around to confront what she thought was a wandering stage hand only to find herself face to face with an older, foreign gentleman, looking just as startled as she. "Oh my word, are you alright?!" His deep, brown eyes searching for injury or illness as he helped her into a sitting position on the floor.

Jane took a moment to compose herself and take in the strange visitor. Was this the "daroga" that Erik spoke about? From her studies, the word meant "policeman" but this man bore no official rank or even very official clothes. His fez was worn and the tassel had only a few remaining strands, his shirt was loose fitting, one that a common workman would wear, and his pants, tight at the ankle above his pointed shoes, had a few patches to cover the threadbare knees and pockets. This man looked more like a grandfather than a policeman.

She hadn't realized she was staring, "Madame?" His gaze changed from searching to curious, "Are you quite alright?"

"What? Oh, yes, thank you." She was still sitting on the floor, wood shavings caught in the folds of her simple work dress. "Are you, 'daroga', sir?"

His laugh was musical to her ears, like old bells in a shop. "I haven't been called that in ages, my dear, but as Erik refusing to call me by anything but, yes, I am daroga, at your service." He lifted his fez in the air as he bowed to her. "And are you the lovely Christine I've heard so much about?"

At the name, Jane's mood soured. "No, sir." Turning her head toward the floor to hide her angry tears, of course Erik wouldn't mention her to anyone outside of the opera, "My name is Jane, I live here with the Phantom."

The Persian was taken aback, "I'm sorry, my dear, he never mentioned anything about you." Before she could respond with words she would later regret, he smiled, "Our first impression was a bit lacking, how about a hot cup of tea while we reintroduce ourselves and I can learn about the woman living in the catacombs with the Phantom of the Opera." He finished with a flourish of his hands as he offered to help her up. She was starting to like this man.

And that was how Erik found them not an hour later. Both of them sitting on the love seat, a cup in each hand, quietly talking about whatever came to mind. He wondered at the look on his ward's face, it was peaceful and content, something he didn't see unless she thought he wasn't looking. An odd tightness hurt his chest at the sight but he brushed it away.

"My dear daroga," At his voice, they both jumped, "Had I known you were coming earlier, I would have prepared a meal."

His friend smiled, they hadn't seen each other in years, "Nonsense, my friend. I was perfectly content with having a pleasant drink with your charming ward." At this, he lifted her hand and placed a polite kiss on her knuckles. Jane blushed and Erik scowled.

Quickly though, the moment passed and the three friends sat around a dinner of Jane's creation, talking about developments in Persian and Erik's plans with the opera. It was the closest to domestic bliss the three had known.

All too soon though, joy is turned to anguish. Carlotta Giudicelli soon became the Opera Populaire's leading soprano and it was swiftly understood that any disobedience was meant with abuse. Some of the ballerinas sported bruises from a hit with one of the many props (mostly huge, gaudy fans) and some of the stage hands had bloody wounds from a close call with her manicured nails.

Jane managed to avoid contact with her for the most part, but when one lives in the same house, an encounter can't be avoided. Jane was walking back stage, inspecting the wooden structures for the next play, ensuring that there weren't any flaws. Unfortunately, while she was walking around a corner, looking up at the ropes, Carlotta was turning the same corner, causing them to collide. Jane wasn't a small woman but with the Diva dressed in over 50 pounds of makeup and costume, it was enough to send her to the floor and only jostle the Italian beast.

As she stood up, she looked to see Carlotta staring her down, her arms as folded as they could be with the starched sleeves of her dress. "Apologies, Señora."

She was so intent on leaving that she didn't see the enraged sneer on the diva's face and the hand that came rushing toward her unprotected face.

Erik was patrolling the rafters, overseeing Christine's ballet practice, when he heard the slap of skin on skin, and the shrieking of Carlotta's shrill voice. Looking down over the rafter as he happened to be right above, he was shocked to see Jane on the floor and Carlotta screeching over her, something about an apology and the rights of stage hands. When Jane looked up at her attacker, Erik could see 3 red lines across her cheeks, dripping slowly down her neck. Enraged at her pain (proud at her silence), Erik threw his voice to distract the dense diva enough for Jane to scurry away.

"Señora Carlotta, you're needed in my office!" Lefevre was easy enough, let him have the trouble. Besides, he was late on his payment.

She bought it without hesitation, "Si, señor Lefevre. I coming!" And thus, she waddled away under weight of her burden, the stagehand forgotten.

Down in the caves, Erik gently helped his friend out of the gondola and followed her into the washroom. She had been silent the whole time the diva raged down on her and during the trip home. He was worried, he knew Jane had a few choice words to say about Carlotta, especially about her treatment of others. But, this silence was unlike her.

Yet, when she placed the whiskey-soaked gauze on her cheek, she winced and made eye-contact with herself in the mirror. To Erik's sorrowful surprise, she began to cry. Her hands gripped the basin as the tears fell and molded around the slices on her cheek. Unsure of what to do, he picked up the gauze and finished what she started, not wanting it to become infected. Never in their time together did Jane cry in front of him, not since the beginning when she was healing from her trauma. It scared him.

When it was all wrapped and clean, he took her into their living room and gently sat Jane in her chair, moving his so he could hold her hands while she grieved. He tried to console her, "Please don't cry, my dear, it won't scar. You won't have to worry about looking as I do."

Instead of reassuring her though, she only cried harder at his words. Panicked at her hysterics, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, "Please, Jane why do you cry so?" He was afraid that this was her true insanity and he would never get his friend back.

After a long moment, he heard her take a deep breath, "I do not fear scars, mon phantom," his heart always clenched strangely when she used the endearment, "I fear myself. I am hated by all and forced to be the source of anger and fear, a scapegoat for the regal and rich of our society. I hide and slink in silence. I do not wish this, for anyone."

He knew she spoke of him, yet he could not answer her. He just gently rocked her and stroked her hair until she fell asleep, her soft snores and occasional mumbling the only sounds in the tranquil cave. He wondered at this strange girl and how she had wormed her way into his life and eventually his heart. Yes, he could say that now. But it was no more than a platonic love. His one true love was Christine, at least, that's what he told himself. As both of them have grown, he's found himself torn between the angelic beauty and talent of the Swedish ballerina and the acceptance and companionship of the Parisian woman. Such thoughts made his head hurt though. There would be a time and place for them, just not now.

He carried her to her room, surprised at the fullness of her body. The last time he carried her, it was away from the alley and she had been a frail thing then. All of the work, comfortable eating, and lack of stress had let her body fill out to that of a woman's. 'Would Christine feel this full, this womanly, in my arms?' He was brought out of his thoughts when Jane curled closer to his body and sighed quietly in her sleep. After he put her to bed, he sat down and wrote a letter to Giry about the incident, requesting that Jane be placed away from Carlotta's influence. With this in his possession, he went upstairs to help his angel with her music lesson.


	3. True Blindness

The night of Hannibal came faster that Jane thought possible. With the change in managers, Carlotta storming the stage, and Christine suddenly made the lead soprano, her mind was in a whirlwind of confusion, and foreboding. Now with Erik's student in the top position, his attention and devotion would only increase tenfold, leaving Jane behind for cold dinners by herself more often. The situation looked dire, but there wasn't much she could do about it, as she had been told more than once to never comment about Christine in Erik's presence.

With a heavy sigh she knocked on Christine's dressing room door, "Mademoiselle?"

"Enter." The diva's voice was clipped, already fitting into her role as the lead soprano.

As she walked into the overly large dressing room, Jane glanced at the mirror on one end. This particular mirror had a secret passage down to Erik's lair and they both knew this. What was he planning? The sight of the mirror only twisted her stomach further. Her own reflection stared back at her, scowling. The sight of her clear face reminded her of the cuts that cleared without a scar, she was almost disappointed they didn't.

Behind her, Christine cleared her throat louder than necessary, "Ahem!"

Jane turned around to face the diva, who was pouting in front of the vanity, "It about time. Of course they would send me the raving lunatic." Disgust marred her young features and hatred dripped from her voice. It was sickening that her fantom adored this woman so, but such is her life.

"I am help to help you prepare tonight."

Christine simply scoffed and whipped her head back to face the vanity. "Then I guess I must bear through it."

No one but Erik acknowledged that Jane was phenomenal with makeup and costuming. Her dream was to make a silicone mask for Erik to cover his scars so he could go out in public, but she never dared to tell him, in fear of upsetting him.

Standing behind Christine, she made quick work of the horrible mangles in her hair (for she rarely bathed) and put it up in a innocent, yet alluring look, some strands hanging around her slender face. Even Jane couldn't deny the diva's natural beauty. Once the makeup was finished and she placed jewels in her ear, and on her ears and neck, she was radiant. But all she got was a hum and a dismissive wave of her hand. While cleaning up the various clothes that had been strewn about the dressing room, she overheard Christine struggling with her corset, "Well don't just stand there, help me!" Quietly and swiftly, she had her tied up and out to the stage. She continued cleaning, picking up makeup, perfume, costumes, when she heard soft footsteps approaching.

"She's gone Erik, as you can plainly see."

The mirror opened and her friend gracefully stepped out. He had a rose in his hand tied with a black silk ribbon. She tended to those roses lovingly only to have him pick them, de-thorn them and leave them for Christine to find and later discard.

"Surely you should wait until after the performance, to see if she does well?"

Erik turned to face her as if he just noticed her, then smiled smugly, "I always know she'll do well, she could never disappoint me."

"Yet I do so often..." She regretted the words as soon as they came out. Before Erik could respond, she turned around to make Christine's bed, "It seems the Viscount knows of Christine Daae, from long ago. I heard him speaking about it with the managers."

His response was immediate, "As if he could, you must have mistaken him for someone else." Never had he doubted her before. That was it, she had enough of his Christine-infatuated behavior for one night.

"Excuse me, sir, but I have other duties to fulfill." She stood, looking ahead instead of at Erik who gaped at her, watching as she walked through the door instead of going home to change. He let it go though, as he could not wait to hear his angel sing at the opera. He would deal with Jane later.


	4. The Precipice

A/N: Lovely readers, thank you so much for sticking with me despite my hiatus. This is a bit of a filler chapter but its importance will be made clear later on. Please enjoy and I'm open to suggestions. I have no beta so curb your flames to that disadvantage.

* * *

She paced agitatedly behind a painted backdrop that they would roll out during the 3rd act. Christine, Christine, Christine, that was his whole world outside their quiet dinners. It burned in her head like an angry headache at the thought of Christine taking her place by Erik's side. She knew it was irrational and selfish, but she felt entitled to her opinion, as she had taken care of Erik since she was brought here, just to have some pretty girl get in the way.

This particularly evil thought brought a sigh from her lips, 'This is getting you nowhere Jane, you old goat.'

Being malicious was unlike her and it only exhausted her further. She squared her shoulders with sudden resolve, while Erik watched his precious diva, she decided she would sleep in the room Madame Giry first offered her when she started to work. Especially with the appearance of the Viscount, she did not want to be around when Erik found out about his infatuation. A small part of her felt that the young man's patronage was just what Erik needed. The knowledge that even if Christine was his world, he was not hers.

There were enough people running around with costumes, props, lights, makeup, etc. that Jane was not needed until after the performance. So, she decided that while everyone, including her friend, was preoccupied, she would gather her things for the night.

Her walk down was quiet, as her usual companion was elsewhere. She decided not to take the gondola but instead walk along the passageway that hugged the walls of the lake. Once she arrived, she wasted no time in making an overnight bag, including her ID slip, something she hadn't seen in years. She didn't need it but a feeling, pulsing in the back of her mind, compelled her to take it, including her change purse.

It had been a gift from Erik 3 years after he saved her from the streets. It had a dainty kiss lock and beautifully embroidered fabric. She hadn't been able to get him to tell her where he had gotten it, no matter how many scones she made. She lovingly caressed it until a nearby splash brought her out of her thoughts.

"Erik?" Glancing out of her room, Jane tried to locate the source of the sound. Alas, it was only a stray rock from the cavern walls.

She squashed down her disappointment and gathered her things. Up in the ballerina dormitories, she stood in front of the door, pushing it open with a sad creak. Inside, a small bed and an old dresser were the only furniture. She suddenly felt a longing for her soft bed down in the caverns and her candlelit dinners with her friend.

'No, no Jane we'll not have that. You made this decision and now you have to stick with it.' To help keep herself distracted, Jane unpacked her bag into the dresser and made the bed with the linen in the bottom drawer. Taking one last look around, Jane hummed quietly to herself as she closed the door and made her way to Christine's dressing room to wait.

Of course, the gala went fabulously, Christine shined in the light of her successful and Erik preened from his place in the rafters, only mildly irritated that his box was occupied. There was a standing ovation as the effect of her voice resonated with the audience.

Jane was waiting patiently in the dressing room when she heard the crowd getting louder. Suitors from high and low all begging for Christine's attention while she coyly looked this way and that, her vision blindly by bouquets of flowers and cards of invitation.

Jane slowly opened the door only to receive a face full of flowers. Through the color and fragrance, came a stumbling Christine, grinning ear to ear, words of vague encouragement and promises slipping from her lips to the eager faces of the men behind her. Once she had closed the door, she thought they would get the message and she certainly heard most of the noise move down the hall, but after a moment, a small knock landed on the door. Curious, Jane opened the door to reveal a handsome woman, dressed in fine silk, holding a pale letter.

"Yes, mademoiselle, how can I be of service?"

She seemed surprised that it was Jane who answered the door. The woman looked her up and down, straying on her hips, which bulged slightly from under her skirts. Jane felt self-conscious under the woman's gaze, knowing she wasn't pretty like Christine. When she reached her eyes once more, a playful smirk played across her rouged lips,

"I had intended this to go to Miss Daae, but instead I'd like it if you took it, Cherie." She handed Jane the note which appeared to be sealed with a kiss of rouge on the corner.

A blush crept up on Jane's cheeks at the woman's tone, "Mademoiselle?"

"Lea Dulone." She curtsied slightly and looked at Jane expectedly.

"Oh!" She curtsied the way Erik had taught her, "Jane Noir, at your service."

An elegant eyebrow clicked up at the phrase, "Indeed you will be my dear. Until we meet again." At that, Lea walked gracefully down the hall toward the exit, leaving Jane baffled at Christine's doorway.

"Jane, who was it?" There was a hint of excitement in the diva's voice.

"Just someone looking for the exit, Mademoiselle."

Christine huffed in disappointment.

Behind her, on the floor, was at least an armful of bouquets scattered around the vanity. "I'll put these in water, then, shall I?"

Without waiting for an answer, she started arranging the colorful beauties around the room. Christine sat at the vanity, fondling the blood red rose and simple silk ribbon. "It's just so lovely when my angel praises me."

"Of that I have no doubt, mademoiselle. He is pleased with you." Jane had yet to turn to the younger woman.

Without missing a beat, she responded with an almost absented minded air, "There are few who can achieve perfection, such as I have, Jane." She made eye contact through the mirror and the implications were obvious.

Unbeknownst to either woman, Erik listened through the mirror. He was glad she noticed the rose, but her comment toward Jane was uncalled for and uncharacteristic of his pupil. He watched Jane's face & flinched at her expression, for there was none. His normally expressive friend was cold as stone. He would have to speak to her later.

"Indeed." Before much else could be said, the door opened unannounced and in stepped the grinning Viscount. Christine's face lit up but she glanced warily at Jane, for it was improper for men to be in a lady's dressing room, especially without claiming his intentions at the door. She didn't want the stagehand ratting her out.

Luckily for her, Jane wanted nothing to do with the scene, "If you are no longer in need of assistance, then I shall retire for the night."

"Yes, please do." No longer looking at her. The viscount had already begun reciting, "Little lottie, let her mind wander…"

Quietly collecting her poor skirts, Jane left through the door, gagging at the young man's cooing.

Just as suddenly as he came in, he came rushing out, calling out to his valet. Just as Jane turned down the hallway, she heard her love's angry voice explode in the dressing room, along with the swish of madame Giry's skirts as she rushed away from locking the door. He had finally lost it. She heard him call out to Christine and realized that he was inviting her through the mirror.

Angry tears burned her eyes. Maybe she would take up Madame Dulone's invitation. She took a deep breath and made her way to her old room. For once glad she had gathered her things before Erik returned. The room was just as quiet and pathetic as it was when she came in earlier and her belongings almost made it worse. All she had was a couple of cleaning dresses and one dress for when she went out. She had never worn it. Picking it up from the drawer, she ran her fingers over the lace and ruffles over the front and she feared she would never wear it. Just to think, she had devoted everything to that man currently leading Christine into their home, only to have him brush her off like everyone else in her life. The tears flowed freely as she undressed to her chemise and crawled into the unfamiliar bed. Laying down on the hard, lumpy mattress, she didn't know what to do now that Erik's secret was out. Maybe Christine would accept him and Erik would throw Jane to the side. The thought made her sick and the tears fell faster. Wiping at her face, she focused on getting some sleep.

—

The next morning, she went down to the lair while Erik made his rounds in the rafters. Everything looked the same as the night prior, not that she had been paying much attention. Out of the corner of her eye, Jane noticed that the curtain covering Christine's mannequin had been pushed to the side, something she never allowed while she was home. Now, it seemed that Erik had shown his prodigy his … creation. Passing the study on her way to her room, she was caught by the drawings that had previously been in the drawer against the wall. They were tacked all over the walls, graphite, oil paint, charcoal, all of Christine. They all seemed to staring down at Jane, lording Erik's devotion over her. He must have put them up during the Gala. He even put out one of the masks he was currently working on, which he never let her see until he was finished.

While she lovingly caressed the new mask, she heard a soft sigh from his bedroom. Anxiety, sharp and sickening, twisted her stomach as she tip toed over.

'No! It couldn't be.' Her fears grew as the soft sounds of feminine snoring filtered through the curtains of the room.

But it was true, there was the diva, comfortably nestled in his blankets and pillows. tightly curled in her hands was the quilt Jane had made for Erik last winter, only, she never saw him use it until now. It made her heart sink to see the young girl's hands on it. Defeated and heartbroken, Jane made her way back to the surface, managing to avoid meeting Erik. Tears pricked her eyes at the image of Christine that was burning itself into her brain.

A spur of the moment decision found her at Madame Giry's door. She asked for the day off.

"A day off? When?" The older prima ballerina glanced over her glasses at the woman. Not once in the years she had been working at the opera house had Jane asked for a day off.

"Today, Madame." Though she had met her eyes, Antoinette could tell she was miles away. This poor woman was in pain, the kind she knew all too well. Besides, with Jane preoccupied, that would give Erik a chance with Christine. 'Yes, this will do quite nicely.'

"Of course, my dear." She went back to looking at the Gala reviews they had received in the post, "Now that the opening night is over, we won't be needing as much help tonight. You have your day."

Curtsying politely, Jane quietly walked out, grabbing her bag by the door. She hadn't notified Erik of her decision but she doubted he would notice her absence. The thought made her chest squeeze painfully. She absentmindedly shook her head to ward away any thoughts about the man she loved.

Stepping outside the opera house for the first time in many years, Jane knew not what to do but simply walked to a nearby shop. Today was a day for thinking.

A weight in her petticoat stopped her for a moment, then a small smile graced her lips, the Lady Dulone's "invitation."

"Perhaps I do have some business to attend to."


	5. Temptation

Inside the coyly sealed envelope, was directions to a house in the ritzy area of Paris and a vague invitation of pleasant company and unknown activities. The language of the letter, as well as the method of sealing, indicated amorous intentions but Jane couldn't believe a lady of Lea's standing would be interested in propositioning her. The only way for her to know would be to knock on the oak door looming before her.

She had never been on this side of Paris, as there was no need, being a child of the gutter. Her work as a maid brought her close but she was sacked before she replaced her mentor. The stories her fellow gutter rats would tell her used to dazzle her dreams. Tall, freshly painted mansions, ladies in expensive dresses without a blemish on their perfect skim, and men looked radiant in their tailored suits and greased facial hair. It became a fantasy to be able to reside in the houses she had gazed at from afar. However, now that she was able to stand within it, she realized it wasn't as grand as her friends had made it seem. It was, of course, lovely, with tall mansions, busy shops, and lavishly dressed men and women, but the streets were still dirty, the alleyways untouched by sunlight, and the beggars all looked the same, no matter where in Paris you went. There was a small blossom of disappointment in her chest at the dissolution of her childish dreams, but also a sense of acceptance that life was the same no matter where you went, the grass would never be greener other than where you stood. With this, she nodded her head to the fleeting dreams and turned to knock on the large oak door to Lea Dulone's residence.

The question begged, Who was this woman? What did she want with Christine? What did she want with Jane, for that matter?

Before she could begin to theorize, the door creaked open and the mousey face of the housekeeper peered out at Jane.

"Yes, Mademoiselle? What do you want?" Jane could sense that from the way the woman glanced at her clothes, she assumed Jane was a beggar. She had to admit, even though her clothes were hardly the rags she donned prior to meeting Erik, they were still those of a poor cleaning lady.

"I am expected by Mademoiselle Dulone." She handed her the letter when the woman's thin lips curled with disbelief. She snatched the letter from Jane's hands and read over it. With a sigh of apparent defeat, she nodded and handed back the letter, stepping away to admit Jane into what she assumed to be the parlor.

"Wait here, Madame will receive you in the drawing room." With one last skeptical glance toward Jane, the housekeeper disappeared further into the house. She took the opportunity to take in her surroundings, having never been in a house of such grandeur. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a gramophone crackling away a tune she had never heard before. As the tinny music weaved around her, the room took an almost magical appearance. The furniture seemed so much more extravagant, the paintings that much more bold, the parlor itself the stage of some foreign opera and Jane was witness to it all. She thought she could see the parties that must have happened here. A room full of people from the higher class of society, chatting, drinking, socializing about things she could only dream of. She was so entranced that she didn't hear the maid come in until she was startled by a hesitant touch on her shoulder.

"Mademoiselle?" The maid gazed, concerned into Jane's shining eyes.

"What?!" She was a little too loud, having been shaken out of her fantasy. Politely, she cleared her throat and addressed the maid again, "My apologies, yes?"

The maid bowed her head slightly, "The Madame will see you now." Without waiting for her response, the woman began walking toward the door on the far left side of the parlor. With a swift knock on the door, she waited obediently for the response.

"Enter." Though muffled by the heavy door, the sultry voice of Lea was unmistakable. Just as swiftly as her knock, the maid opened the door for Jane and closed it once she was inside. She didn't have as much time to admire the decor of the new door as her eyes were drawn to the figure lounging by the fire on the opposite side of the room.

Lea turned and smiled lazily at her visitor, "Please, cherie, do have a seat. I've sent for coffee." She was very nearly sprawled across the chaise but managed to look just as regal as when she had stood in front of Jane yesterday.

"Of course, Mademoiselle." She perched awkwardly on the chair opposite of Lea, unsure of herself. Here was a lady of standing, requesting the presence of a lowly stagehand, the odds were insurmountable, yet there she was, all the same.

A frown marred Lea's lovely features as she looked at Jane's posture, "Oh come now, cherie, that's no way to sit. Lean back and relax. I can't imagine life at the Opera house gives you much time for restoration." She smirked at this, fixing her with a knowing look, "And I know there isn't someone…special, to help you unwind." The look on Lea's face was positively predatory and Jane flushed from her roots to her toes and it suddenly became very hot. Before anything else could be said, a knock pierced the silence. The maid had returned with a tray with coffee and small white pastries that Jane had never seen before. Silently, the maid set the tray down between them, curtsied to Lea and left the room. Jane continued to start at the pastries. At her confused look, Lea smiled and plucked one from the tray, "Capezzoli di Venere." and plopped it between her rouged lips.

"Mademoiselle?"

That predatory smile once more curled around Lea's face, "Nipples of Venus, Cherie."

Jane gasped quietly and looked once more at the treats, they were indeed white balls with small pink dots at the top, reminiscent of the aforementioned body part. Her blush deepened.

Once the formalities were over, Lea poured coffee for them both and they spoke of the opera, of the house (Lea was amused by Jane's fascination), and other topics that befitted a social call.

Very suddenly, while Jane was recalling the specifics of matching foundation to skin tone and the complexities of skin sensitivity, Lea sat up and nearly slammed her cup down on the saucer. The sound of china grating against itself caused Jane to jump in her seat, where she had grown comfortable and sank into the expensive cushions.

"Lea?" The lady had demanded Jane refer to her by her Christian name, as 'Madame Dulone' was too formal.

Lea's broad shoulders shook in silent laughter as her focused her intense eyes on the stagehand, "My dear, you have no idea why I called you here, do you?"

Jane shook her head, while she was enjoying Lea's company, she really had no idea why she had been invited to socialize with the woman who towered above her in class.

"Well, I guess it's time to enlighten you." Slowly, the lady rose from her seat, walking around the table that separated their chairs. Jane thought she looked like a hunter closing in on a cornered animal. She suddenly felt like the prey she was and her attention was brought back to her surroundings. It had become dark during their conversation and the embers of the fire burned low, casting a dark orange glow over the drawing room, elongating shadows, especially those of Lea, who was all but standing over Jane. The darkness of the room made it difficult to read her features, but she could almost say with certainty that Lea looked…hungry.

"Lea-" Her mouth descended on hers quick as a viper. The coffee and the chocolate from the sweets clung to Lea's lips and it was a heady mixture, one Jane was tempted to get drunk on. Her lips were frozen against Lea's but that didn't seem to deter her as Jane felt something slip past her parted teeth and suddenly her tongue was dancing with Lea's. The rush of intimacy was overwhelming as Jane's body burned with sudden arousal and confusion. It was hard not to get caught up in the waves that flowed from Lea to Jane, dragging a moan from her chest. The dam caved and Jane gave in to Lea's talented mouth, twisting her tongue with hers and almost ravaging her lips. She had been so touch-starved for years that this was like giving a dying man the fountain of youth. She felt Lea smirk against her lips and cautiously let her hands slide over Jane's curves, which she had been staring at the entire afternoon. She came up to cup a breast and gave it a decent squeeze, pulling another delicious moan from Jane. The air grew heavy with the scent of arousal, only broken by the moans of Jane and the gasps from Lea.

Their lips finally separated their breath heavy between them and an unspoken question. Being more experienced in seduction, Lea knelt down before Jane and took her cheeks between her hands. Her eyes were closed, not in shame but in confusion. The blush spread beautifully from her cheeks, down her neck, and into her cleavage which Lea was dying to taste. The low light of the fire gave it a shine that highlighted the light perspiration that clung to Jane's modest breasts. Lea wanted full consent before continuing though. She wasn't someone of so loose morals that she would take advantage of an unwilling partner.

"Jane." Her eyes opened to gaze upon her seductress.

"Lea." There was no fear, no disgust in Jane's voice, but there wasn't any particular eagerness that Lea could hear.

She seemed to search Jane's eye before coming to a conclusion, "You're in love."

Any lady of class would have denied such a statement, but Jane wasn't a lady of class, she was a person of honesty and Lea had caught on to that the moment she laid eyes on her.

Jane hung her head in apparent shame, which confused Lea as she thought this would bring her joy. "What is it Cherie?" Her manicured hand under Jane's chin brought her eyes once more to hers. There were unshed tears there.

"Lea…oh Lea, I don't know what to do." She collapsed into Lea's open arms, not caring that they were on the floor, "Yes, I admit I am in love. But another woman replaces me in his heart."

A dark look fell on Lea's face, marring her looks, "Who is he Cherie, why does he trail you around so?"

"My best friend, my confidant, my muse. I am nothing to him though, and yet I can't leave."

Lea sensed the resolution in Jane's voice and knew that her time with her was over. Perhaps later down the line, she could taste the forbidden fruit that was Jane Noir, but tonight was not that night. Alas, it was not the first loss she would experience and it certainly would not be the last but she felt a connection with Jane that would persevere Lea's normal one-night stands.

Wiping away the tears that had unknowingly slipped down Jane's face, Lea helped her stand and brush off her skirts. Calling her maid, she had a carriage called to take Jane to the opera house.

"Feel free to visit anytime, Cherie. I quite enjoyed our conversation." With a dignified smile, she gently kissed Jane on the lips once more, quietly rejoicing Jane's equal participation.

"Until next time, Lea." Jane smiled back and went outside to the cab. What Lea failed to mention was the rouge that had transferred from herself to Jane, making their activities obvious. However, she didn't feel any need to tell Jane. Besides, a little claim never hurt anyone.


	6. Candlelight

A/N: Sorry for the long wait everyone. New job and all the stressors that follow. For those who were thrown off by the last chapter, all will be explained in due time. Thank you everyone for sticking with me! Next chapter will be up as soon as I can.

When Jane didn't return home after the gala, Erik wasn't terribly concerned, as he was distracted by the presence of his protege. The next morning failed to provide any insight as to her whereabouts, either. This was cause for concern, as Jane didn't normally stay away from home for more than an evening, and it was now into the next morning, with no sign of his friend.

A soft sound from the bedroom erased all thought of Jane from his mind. His beloved Christine was there, in his home, and he couldn't contain his delight, nor his anticipation. What would she say? She seemed dazzled by his performance last night, but would that wonderment transfer over into her first morning in his home? There was only one way to know, and it created a pit of worry in his stomach.

He began to play a soft melody on his organ, so as to wake her gently into the land of the living. He let his feelings for her flow from his fingers to the keys, a floating sound that echoed around the cavern. Her angelic voice soon found him, harmonious with the music, and soothed his soul. Her voice could always calm him after a trying day. It was the balm to his wounds, and here was his cure in the flesh.

He felt her light touch on his face and leaned into her body as he continued to play. Heaven had finally come down to bless him, after years of dark solitude and hatred. It was to be short-lived, for, without warning, she pulled his mask off and gasped. She had seen his face, the one he so rarely let light touch, and was horrified. His dream shattered before his eyes and the reality of his existence reared its ugly head. She was just like everyone else, everyone else that feared him, hated him for his face. Anger and anguish filled his soul and he pushed Christine away.

"Damn you, you little prying pandora, you little viper," He leaned toward her cowering body, his body shaking with barely controlled rage, "Is this what you wanted to see?!"

"Curse you, you little lying Delilah, you little demon. Now you cannot ever be free!"

He shouted, cursed, whimpered of hatred and disgust, of the anguish that crushed his soul. He felt he would never be whole again after this betrayal from his precious student. The shaking figure huddled in the corner barely registered through his rage. If Jane had been there, she would know how to calm him down, what to say, what not to say, and he felt a longing for her strength.

Shortly after his outburst, he took Christine back to her room, she refused to look at him, her shoulder shaking and her body curled in on itself. Leaving without a word, Erik slunked downstairs to sulk and mourn. He thought Jane should have been back by now, he knew of her dislike for Christine and perhaps now that she was gone, his friend would return. He needed her comforting touch. She had always been there, one of the only constants in his life, someone he could rely on.

"Jane?" Only an echo answered him.

She was nowhere to be found in the caves, and a little seed of panic started to grow in the back of his mind. Where could she have gone? Where did she sleep? Had she left? The last thought filled him with dread. Jane was his best, if only, friend.

"Now, think logically about this." His frantic voice seemed to mock him as it rattled around the empty cave.

"She's most likely upstairs, cleaning. Of course, cleaning." He had unknowingly slipped into his habit of talking to himself to fill the silence, something he hadn't done since before Jane fell into his life.

Madame Giry's office had been strategically placed near the entrance to the lair for easy access, which Erik was thankful for as he knocked on the door to inquire about Jane.

"A day off?!" The panic was real now, Jane never asked for a day off, "Where did she go?"

Antoinette shrugged, "I have no idea, Erik. I thought she would have told you." She made a point of not asking where her workers went in their spare time. Erik's concern seemed logical, but that still didn't change her opinion that what happened on her workers' days off was their business. She glanced over at the man, he was visibly shaking. She had to calm him down before he went on a rampage.

"I'm sure she hasn't gone far. When she came to me this morning, she seemed upset and I thought it best not to pry." Again, there was the shrug. Erik glared at the prima ballerina, frustrated that she seemed so uncaring for something that was devastating to him.

"Fine." The door slammed closed behind him, releasing some of the anger that sat tight in his chest.

Now there was the problem of Jane being missing…of her own volition. That hurt to think about for Erik, the fact that she decided to leave him with saying anything. Not a note, not a word. He thought she owed him that much. He frowned at the wall, why did he think that?

Mimicking Antoinette's trademark, he shrugged, there was nothing he could do but wait until her return. A night alone wasn't so bad, and he could speak to her tomorrow. The cave was too quiet without her, though, so he decided on sleeping in the corridor near Christine's room. Despite her betrayal, his affection for her was deep and unwavering. Or so he thought.

The next morning brought aches and pains from sleeping on the hard concrete floor, but it was more tolerable than sleeping alone in the caves below. Erik hoped he would see Jane today, and he could finally talk to her about what happened, his glee from being with Christine (mornings tended to affect his memory), and his feelings about Jane's abrupt vacation.

Foregoing breakfast, he made his way to the rafters to start his rounds as the stagehands and artists started on the play il muto.

While overseeing the costume designers at work, he heard a voice float above the rafters from the lighting section, it was Jane. Excitement made his breath hitch in his chest and he quickly made his way over. It was indeed her, he would know her anywhere. She was facing away from him, but her unique cleaning dress and curvy figure gave away her identity. She was talking with a fellow stagehand who kept staring at her face with an odd expression on his face.

Once the stagehand walked away, Erik made his way down and, knowing they were alone, called out to her, "Jane?"

She went stiff at his voice and responded without turning around, "What?"

There was a cold chill to her voice and Erik's chest clenched with an unknown emotion.

"Where…where have you been? You haven't been home." He wasn't normally this unsure of himself, but Jane's behavior was throwing him off. He wanted her to look at him. Her accepting gaze and gentle eyes were the only sure way of knowing his friend had come back to him. He even hesitated to reach out and touch her. Their friendship was a tactile one, something he secretly craved. But, something had changed in the atmosphere between them. It scared him, an emotion he was not used to feeling.

A moment passed where she didn't speak, an inner debate warring within, evident by her still form. A resolution was found when her shoulders slumped in defeat as she turned to finally address him. Her eyes burned into his with irritation, and he took an unconscious step back. His own eyes darted to her lips, where the stagehand had been staring, and what he saw shocked him. Smeared across Jane's lips was rouge, a rose red that mimicked Erik's calling card.

She noticed him staring, "What is it?" Her irritation softened, if only slightly, with concern. He was so still.

A hot emotion, similar to what he felt in Christine's dressing room after the Viscount left, burned in his skull and rendered him speechless. He knew Jane only occasionally wore makeup and never that dark of a hue. She had certainly been out on her day off, with a woman no less! The revelation twisted his stomach. Jane had sought comfort in the arms of some harlot (somewhere in Paris, Lea choked on her coffee), on the night after his success, even.

While Erik continued his silent argument, Jane decided she would finish with her chores. Her movement spurred him into action and he grabbed her arm. She quickly whipped around to glare at the appendage as if it burned her.

"Erik?!" Despite her outrage, Jane kept her voice low so as to not attract attention. So, her regard for him remained intact, if not her loyalty. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

Had he been in the right frame of mind, he would question his anger and his apparent possession over Jane. But, Erik was not in his right mind and therefore did not consider this.

He dragged her to an empty dressing room and pushed her toward the mirror. By this time, Jane was seething with anger, but she still did not cry for help. A single candle burned on the vanity, giving the room an orange glow, ironically reminiscent of her recent visit with Lea.

"What is the meaning of this?" She had never been this angry with her friend and his actions continued to baffle her.

"Look. In. The. Mirror." His voice was no more than a growl, which, regardless of her anger, sent a shiver down her back.

He was just as worked up as she, so she conceded, in order to avoid more arguing. What she saw in its reflective surface gave her some insight as to the strange looks she had received, but it didn't explain Erik's anger.

Suddenly, a handkerchief appeared in front of her face, one of his personal ones, with 'O.G' embroidered on the corner. It was mildly touching. Wordlessly, she took it and wiped away the rouge from her face. Lea hadn't mentioned it to her and she wondered if it had been intentional. It was possible as she could have been put off by Jane's mixed signals. She would have a stern talking to with her later.

Turning once more to Erik, who was a trembling mass of emotion, she spread her hands out in surrender, "Better?" He settled slightly, now that the offending color was gone, but he was still tense and unusually quiet.

She wanted to stay mad, she really did. He hadn't explained himself, dragged her into an empty room, and demanded she clean her face. It should infuriate her, yet she was still hopelessly in love with him and his attention meant he cared, even if it came out in odd ways.

He seemed to consider her, but the dark room didn't illuminate her features as well as he liked. He stepped closer, so close that Jane could see that he shaved this morning, most likely to impress Christine, she noted sourly. The feeling was fleeting as Erik stepped even closer, sharing her breath and searching her face for any trace of the cosmetics. A small smudge on her jaw captured his attention. Without thinking, he reached up and wiped it away with his thumb. Jane's breath hitched, he wasn't wearing gloves, so the callous from hours of playing on the organ pulled gently on her soft skin.

With a nod, Erik's search was deemed successful, but he still didn't step away. Jane's body was strung like a wire, being this close to him, feeling his body heat radiating off of him in waves. Erik studied Jane's face in the soft glow of candlelight. Now that all of the rouge had been cleaned away, he should have moved away, but instead, he just stood there. Jane was a beautiful woman and it seemed as though he was just now noticing. He was so close he could see the tops of her breasts and the sweat beading in the valley between them, rolling over the supple mounds with her elevated breaths. When he met her eyes again, they looked like dark pools, so deep he felt like he could fall in. A whisper slipped, unbidden, past his lips, "Jane…"

Her breath hitched away and her eyes became half-lidded. When had this woman become so enticing? Erik felt drawn to her in a way that he had never felt before. This was deeper, more primal than his attraction to Christine.

Jane had once heard somewhere that darkness gave people the confidence to do things they would never do in the light. It was now or never and the desire to feel his lips against hers was overwhelming. Just as she leaned toward him, a group of stagehands rushed by the door, calling out for Jane, breaking the silence…and the spell.

With one last look at Jane, Erik vanished into the shadows, most likely through a secret door that led downstairs.

Jane sighed, a sorrowful, lost sound that echoed in the empty room. She still had the handkerchief clutched in her hand, the cream fabric now stained with red. With a small smile, she carefully folded it and tucked it next to her heart in her corset (the only one she owned). The door shut behind her with a resounding 'click'.

Over the next few days, Erik didn't see hide or hair of Jane anywhere, and she had yet to come home. She managed to evade him everywhere he went, and if he hadn't been so concerned, he would take pride in her skills.

Every night he was tormented by dreams of their encounter in the dressing room. Each time, the room became that much smaller and the candlelight so dim, he could barely make out her face. Only her eyes, her deep, expressive eyes, stared up at him, daring him to act on the feelings roiling between them. It was intense, almost melancholy as he always awoke just as their lips touched. It frustrated him, confused him, and most of all, filled him with desire. He didn't know what to do with it. He thought he desired Christine, his petite student, not his friend, his confidant. If she were here, she would tell him how to manage his dreams, that they were of no consequence.

One night while staring blankly at his organ, for he felt no inspiration, he recalled that Antoinette had a room for Jane near the dormitories. One that she had never used before since Erik made her a room of her own shortly after her arrival.

She had to be there, and it only made sense (in Erik's sleep deprived mind) to rescue her and bring her back where she belonged. He quickly threw on his clothes as a plan started to form.

Creeping through the rafters, he came across the lonely room in the corner of the dormitories and saw his friend sleeping restlessly on the old mattress. This was no place for his beautiful friend.

While he ran through the best routes to climb down and grab her, he suddenly heard her crying out, "No please…it hurts!…leave me…not again…"

A nightmare from her past. Erik remembered those nights when he first rescued her. He knew she was feeling pain and heartbreak but couldn't imagine what or who was harming her. At the thought of another being harming his Jane, a raw anger flared in his skull. He would string up whomever dared to…

The quiet, sorrowful cry of his name brought him out of his horrid thoughts, "Erik…" It was so quiet, he almost didn't hear her. Climbing down from his perch, Erik gently gathered Jane in his arms, cradling her head to his chest, "Oh, my dear."

When Jane awoke, she was in her bed, in the cavern. At first, she blushed at the thought of Erik carrying her to her room but that quickly soured. So, Christine could sleep in the swan bed but not his dearest friend? Jane decided that she was in need of more time away from Erik and the opera house. Lea was out of the question, she didn't think she could handle another afternoon like that. She hadn't called on her friend Roger in ages and she wanted to know how his Inn was doing, The Dirty Piglett.

Her decision made, she quietly got up, hearing Erik bustling around the cave, and packed a small satchel. She could have packed more, but she didn't have the courage to leave her phantom for good.

When she walked down, Erik turned around, a content look on his face (now that Jane was back), only to have it fall at the sight of her satchel, one that he had bought her years ago, thinking he would send her away but it only collected dust in her closet.

"Are you leaving?" He tried to school his features, forcing a detached tone.

"Yes, only for a while. I have some things to do on the surface."

"Why not let Madame Giry assist you?" Desperation cracked his voice, if only slightly.

Jane tried to evade, "She can't do this task."

'But I just got you back.' The thought was on the tip of his tongue but he held back, "Why not?"

"Because…" She looked away, focused on the ripples of the underground lake, "it's a person."

"Anyone I know?" Hopefully not that horrid woman who left her mark on Jane.

"No."

So many questions boiled to the surface, but Erik refrained from asking them.

"Fine. When will you be back?" He turned away from her, pretending to be uninterested even though he was hanging on her every word.

"In no more than a week."

"Be sure that you do."

If he had been watching her, he would have seen her flinch at his unusual demand. Silently, she left the caves which no longer felt quite like home.


	7. Piglett

Hello my dear readers!

I am SO sorry for the long wait but my fellow writers know the struggle of balancing fanfiction and daily life. There are two more scheduled chapters after this one...for now.

I promise the wait between chapters won't be as long as the past. Thank you so much for sticking with me this long!

The Dirty Piglett was a 3 story house that had been chopped up into several rooms. The decor was…rustic. That was the word Roger had used years ago when they met. Red, grey, and green splashed together to create a warm home in that tragic part of Paris. It was as though someone had cut the house out of a fairytale and placed it in the middle of the gutter.

Roger's Inn was special to the inner city of Paris. It was a place where sex workers, geriatric folk, and even urchins, could go for a soft bed and a hot meal. Roger's only condition was no business. No drugs, sex, or other forms of business were to be conducted within his walls. This allowed women of the night to escape tyrannical clients, children who were frozen from the night's bitter chill to have a warm bed, and all others to escape for a night or two. His prices were low, and his doors and windows were always maintained. Roger was a respected man in that end of Paris. The madams of the whorehouses paid him for providing for their girls, as well as helped him maintain the inn, as he had no staff. The children helped with chores as their payment, and his more geriatric patients left him with their worldly processions, recipes, and medical knowledge. He was considered the wealthiest man in the gutters of Paris, not in riches, but in heart.

That respect meant he was rarely ever bothered, for the culprit was always beaten or shamed for attacking "Piggy" as he was called by many. That's how he met Jane. She was being harassed by a group of men and women behind a shop when Roger walked up,

"Dear me, what seems to be going on?"

The group sneered from across the alley, "Oh leave it, Piggy. This one's a nut."

3 men and 1 woman crowded around an even smaller woman, jeering and snickering at her thin frame and apparently loose mental state.

Eyeing her rescue, the woman lept up and ran behind Roger, cowering away from the mischievous villains.

Roger spied a baton in the hands of one of the more squirrelly men and gently put his hand on her waist.

"Come now, you lot toddle off home. I'll take care of this."

They moaned with disapproval but walked off nonetheless, the man with the baton smacked it once in his hand before following. Roger was sure some helpless animal or shop window would be the victim of a savage beating tonight, but at least he helped spare her.

Speaking of which, once the group disappeared around the corner, the young woman started to shake in his arms, "Now dear, let's get you out of this cold. My name's Roger Piglett, at your service."

"Jane Noir."

—

The sign nailed next to the door was simple, in block lettering and a slightly off-center frame. Obviously made by Roger himself. The knocker was a small brass piece that was tarnished with age except for a small section that tenants used to gently knock on the door. Using this same section, Jane pinched it in her right hand and knocked three times.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, she heard footsteps rushing into the foyer before the handle turned and the door swung open to reveal a short man with salt and pepper hair, a neat mustache, and a worn green vest.

"Well bless my soul, Ms. Jane Noir, on my doorstep. I never thought I'd see the day." His smile was radiant. Roger was one of the few people that could make you feel like you were the center of his world.

Quickly he ushered her in a brought her into the kitchen for some coffee and cakes.

They began visiting and it was as though the 10 years between their last visit was only 10 minutes. Jane's heart swelled, her anxiety had been all for naught. She was worried that Roger would turn her away. What then? Where would she go? Certainly not back to the theatre, no, she needed time. She couldn't bear to see Lea either, not after their one and only visit.

A small cup and plate being set before her brought her attention back to her friend. "I'm sorry I can't offer more. My boys are out shopping at the moment." He pulled sheepishly at his mustache, a nervous habit he's never successfully broken.

"Oh no, Roger. This is perfect."

While they spoke, Roger could tell that Jane was not just there to visit. This wasn't just due to the small satchel sitting in the foyer, but the way she kept looking out the window, Jane was escaping from something or someone. He was determined to find out during her stay, but for now, he wouldn't press the issue.

They spent the night preparing dinner and attending to the tenants who couldn't or wouldn't go to the doctor.

Not long after arriving, Jane found herself tending to an Opal Bovaire, a poor sex worker who was recovering from a rather abusive client. Her eyes were swollen and there were bruises all over her body, including her nether regions. Roger did what he could, but he refused to go near a woman's delicates, said it wasn't his place. Jane was fortunate to get there when she did, working with Roger in the years before the opera house, she had gained some medical knowledge.

Opal was miserable with pain and having another woman there was a relief. Jane was able to tell her that the wounds were superficial and that she would heal within another day or two. She also cleaned her wounds and changed her sheets for her, to keep infection away. With a strong hand against her back, Jane helped Opal sip a glass of brandy to help her sleep before writing a letter to the girl's madam, stating where she was, the treatment she had received, and the information for the girl's dreadful client that Opal had given her. There would be one less creep to mistreat a woman of the night. It made her think of Joseph Buquet, that scoundrel who fooled around with the ballet girls. He had tried to fool around once with her, only to find his unspeakable in her iron grip. He never approached her after that.

Shortly after sending the letter off with an urchin, Jane was shown her room next to Roger's on the bottom floor. She was so exhausted that she only have enough strength to change into her nightgown before collapsing on the bed and falling asleep.

—

Jane found herself sitting in the audience of the Opera Populaire, an unusual occurrence but she could now see why the people of Paris flocked to see their productions. Her eyes were drawn to the stage as the music announced an entrance.

Carlotta walked into view, screeching through her lyrics while Piangy warbled as the Don Juan, certainly not worthy of Erik's masterpiece that was Don Juan Triumphant. She watched as Don Juan and his partner in crime cackled over the nativity of the girl they've captured.

Suddenly, the phantom's voice boomed across the stage, his black mask seductive and menacing at the same time. Jane's body prickled with goosebumps, a hot wave flushed her body, as he always managed to do when he sang.

As the two characters danced around one another, Jane could see the diva become entranced by her captor, her eyes glazing over and her body leaning toward him like a moth to a flame. She felt the people in the audience around her gasp and fidget under the onslaught of musical sex.

She herself was blushing but she knew it was from her heart breaking. With each passionate cry, her lifeblood was left to fill everywhere but the empty hole in her chest. As she watched his strong hands caress Christine's lithe figure, her heart gave a hateful squeeze.

Tears pricked her eyes, falling freely, quietly. It was a silent death that struck without warning and without mercy. She wished to look away, to forget the horrid scene, but her limbs were lead and her head stone, they were all she could see.

The orchestra's sharp tones of drama and seduction began to muffle in her ears, sounding far away, too distant from her reality that was the two figures that dancing and writhing together onstage.

They came to a crashing climax as they met on the bridge. The orchestra paused and Jane's eyes widened in horror as the words between the two leads floated down to her and chipped away at the hole in her chest, a shuttered gasp slipped unbidden past her lips.

Erik's head was bent toward Christine's neck, and his lips brushed against her soft skin as he sang. It was a mournful plea.

Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you'll want me with you here, beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too. Christine, that's all I ask of-

His cry of passion and devotion broke the tension and almost just as suddenly, Christine ripped Erik's mask off.

Everything stopped, the orchestra, the dancers, even the audience was silent as they stared at Erik's misshapen face.

The scream that broke from Jane's chest was of such pure agony that Erik turned to look at her. Their eyes locked and a sickening smile split his face.

His lips started to move and it was as though he was standing in front of her and all she could do was shake in horror as his voice snarled at her, "You will never be good enough."

As it echoed, he grabbed the diva and disappeared, flames engulfed the stage, the audience, and eventually Jane. A fiery death that could never match the death of her heart, her love.

Jane woke up with a cry, tears streaming down her face and her sheets were soaked with sweat. She tried to get her bearings when she heard footsteps in the hallway. Suddenly, Roger was at the door, knocking frantically, "Jane? Jane, it's Roger. Please let me in."

When she opened the door, he wrapped her in his arms, "Jane, my dear, is everything alright? Are you hurt?" He started scanning her up and down, looking for injuries.

The tears continued to trail down her face, "Rog-" Her voice caught as the heartache of the dream overwhelmed her.

He cradled her head on his shoulder, "There, there mon ami, it's alright now."

He gently lead her to the kitchen and put the kettle on while she wiped her face with cool water. They heard soft footsteps on the stairs and turned to see Opal. She had heard Jane crying and wondered if she was alright. Jane smiled sadly at the younger woman, "Yes Opal, I'm alright. Please, you need your rest. Don't worry about me." With a small shake of her head, the girl kissed her head and went back upstairs.

Once they both had tea and she had calmed down, he asked again, "What happened, Jane?"

She spilled everything. Meeting Erik and living under the opera house, becoming assistant to Christine, and meeting the Lady Dulone (Roger noticed the blush that colored her cheeks at the woman's name), and finally the nightmare, staring hard at a spot above Roger's shoulder and when she repeated Erik's words, a single tear slipped down her weary face.

Neither one said anything once she finished, but he took her back upstairs, quickly changed her sheets, and helped her back into bed.

Roger stayed and watched her fall back to sleep, hopefully a dreamless one. To see his friend in pain was torture, especially for someone as smart as Jane Noir. As he thought over her story, there was one thing that kept repeating itself, her love for Erik, the phantom. The man's actions and inactions made Roger furious. He had put her through so much for one man that didn't realize what he had, and how close it was to slipping between his gloved fingertips. There was nothing to be done now though. He would let her sleep.

The next morning, while preparing breakfast, neither spoke of the nightmare, but Jane knew that Roger was only giving her space and she loved him for that.

Breakfast was held in a large dining room behind the staircase. The female tenants sat comfortably, able to relax without fear of the Madame scolding them or men approaching them. The urchins ran around, preparing the table, while the older ones joined Roger in the kitchen to ready plates for the bedridden folks.

Jane spotted Opal gingerly walking down the stairs. Her face was still swollen but she was more relaxed now that her wounds were healing. She offered her a sweet smile before helping her find a seat at the table.

After cleaning up, Roger spent the day checking his books, admitting new tenants, signing out folks that are leaving, while Jane cleaned the empty rooms. He tried to persuade her to stop and rest, but she refused.

"You have no one here but yourself to tend to all this. The urchins can only do so much and besides, I could use the exercise and God knows those rooms need a lady's touch." She winked at his dumbfounded face before marching upstairs.

The week continued this way and Roger received a steady flow of compliments from guests about the change. The children loved to play with her and help her make the beds, the women said that having Jane around had helped immensely with more personal problems, and his geriatric guests stated that she made them feel young again. She was a brilliant light in their dreary lives. Without the compliments, Roger had already noticed the change as well.

He gave it some thought and decided that he wanted to offer Jane a permanent position at the Inn. He would keep her away from the opera house and that man who caused her horrible nightmares. He also didn't trust anyone else to help run his Inn. Most people were too inept or corrupt, unable to resist the temptation to exploit his tenants.

Yes, he would propose to Jane.

—-

At the Opera house,

The whole week Erik fretted and paced. He became irritable and even snapped at Christine during practice when she missed a note. He knew he was being irrational but he was worried. In the years they were together, Jane never spent more than a day on the surface.

Now, it was a whole week. It felt like years, each day passing slower than the last. He lost all inspiration to compose and he even stopped eating. Everything he made tasted bland compared to the meals Jane used to cook for him. He missed the tune she would hum to herself every day and the strange ideas she would mumble to herself. He didn't realize how big her place was in his life.

Nevertheless, today was the day she was supposed to come back. He waited all night, nerves twitching in anticipation, until the candles burned out and the noise from upstairs stopped entirely. A sinking feeling retched at his stomach, she wasn't coming back.

The next day, Erik walked aimlessly through the rafters, hoping to hear a voice or a sound that might indicate Jane had returned. He couldn't sleep alone in the caves anymore, or he would go mad.

Soon enough, he heard a voice, only it wasn't Jane, it was Christine and her friend Meg Giry.

"…so I've been without help for a whole week, Meg!" His student flung her hands dramatically around her, only to curl around her pouting face.

"Where did Jane go, by the way?" Meg did her best to act as the mitigator for Christine's theatrics.

Christine's hands fell back to her sides, "Some seedy inn called The Dirty Piglett. You know, the one Buquet always talks about. He says that the owner takes advantage of incompetent women. If you know what I mean."

Meg gasped, "Oh no, poor Jane."

"I feel bad for the poor woman. But really, she ought to return soon. I just hope Il Muto goes well." Pulling gently at a stray curl, Christine stared off into the distance for a moment before shaking her head and addressing her friend once more.

The girls moved on to lighter topics as they walked away from where Erik stood listening above.

"The Dirty Piglett? What could have brought her there?" Erik feared the worst.

That night, he would save her.


	8. Rescue?

Well, I lied. I said it would be a couple days but I corrected this chapter faster than I thought. Please enjoy! I know it's shorter than the last one but it's a transition. I have no beta!

Keeping to the shadows, Erik snuck through the streets of Paris to the Dirty Piglett. Waves of grim nostalgia invaded his memories each time he turned the corner, a gypsy attraction for one and all. How many times had he made eye contact with a rat, street dog, or a self-important cat, and wished for their freedom to break his chains.

He shook his head, blocking the torturous memories, he had to focus, he had to get to Jane before something horrible befell her.

It wasn't difficult to find the inn once he made it to that part of town. It was the only house on the street that wasn't trashed with filth or vandalism. It stuck out like a rose in a field of briars.

Most of the lights were off since it was later in the night, but one light, the drawing room, blazed like a beacon into the gloomy Parisian street.

He walked over to the window and peered in from the side. Two people inhabited the room, Jane and what he could only presume was the owner. They were having tea by the fire and Piglett was rubbing her tense shoulders while he watched her blissful expression, occasionally flinching with discomfort as he touched a tight spot. Erik's blood boiled at the picture. He was buttering her up before he made his dastardly move, no doubt.

Suddenly, they started talking and he was able to hear them surprisingly well.

"You really shouldn't overwork yourself, darling." Piglett's voice was quiet and full of affection. It made Erik sick to hear such falsity.

"Nonsense, Roger. Working here has been my perfect vacation." She gave him a small smile. 'So, he was making Jane work before he defaced her? How dare he.' Erik could have blasted through the window, instead, he noticed the way they looked at each other. It burned in his chest painfully.

They engaged in a playful banter while Erik stared, mortified, yet he couldn't pinpoint why. Perhaps it was that he hadn't seen that expression on her face in years. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed that it started raining.

The conversation took a serious turn when Roger moved to kneel in front of Jane. She watched him with curious eyes. Erik's back went rigid. How often had he seen that motion in a play or opera? The implications twisted his stomach.

Roger's voice wavered slightly, "Jane, I know it hasn't been long, but your help around the Inn has been irreplaceable. My tenants say that it feels safer, cleaner, and that it's incredibly helpful to have a woman around."

Her brow furrowed when he paused and nervously clasped and unclasped his hands. She sat a little straighter in the armchair.

Erik felt he would combust if the words he suspected left the innkeeper's mouth.

"Jane…" He looked into her eyes and she saw all the hesitation and determination that warred within him, "Would you take a full position at the Inn? As my partner?"

Erik and Jane gasped at the same time. While not the words either of them were expecting, the request was still… unexpected. Roger knew how devoted Jane was to Erik and the Opera House, but after the nightmare the first night, he knew he needed to get her away from the heartbreak and perhaps help her move on. It was selfish, but Roger cared too much for Jane.

The phantom expected his friend to reject the innkeeper outright, but her hesitation hit him like a slap to the face. He quickly moved to the front of the house, banging on the door, hoping that it would fall on top of the audacious man.

While Erik was distracted with getting inside, Jane explained to Roger, "You know I would want nothing more than that, but…I can't leave him." Her friend hung his head, until her small, yet strong hand lifted his chin to look at her, "He makes me happy Roger, despite the heartache. Besides, I'm sure David would want nothing more than to join you here." At the mention of David Cartright, the suitor that came everyday to ask Roger to dinner, he blushed. Before he could respond, though, there was a loud knock at the door, sounding as though the knocker was trying to break it down, "Excuse me, my dear."

He admitted a tall, shadow figure, "Yes sir, how can I help you?" The figure didn't respond, but pushed past Roger and made a beeline for Jane in the drawing room. He stood, baffled, for a moment before charging in after him.

She refused to look at the intruder, and the blissful expression Erik saw earlier was replaced with a glare that marred her normally peaceful features. He had to remain strong, though, he was her rescuer, after all.

"We're leaving." His voice boomed in the quaint little room.

"Under who's authority?" Roger's voice was just as loud from his place behind Erik. He walked over to Jane, warily scanning the muscular man.

"Mine." It came out as a growl. Jane was his, not for this innkeeper to steal away. Had he been thinking properly, he would have questioned the origin of such a thought. But, alas, there they were.

"And who are you?"Jane finally turned to look at him, irritation and exhaustion aging her soft face. Roger stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

If looks could kill, his hands would have burned off.

The two of them made quite the duo, Jane, standing tall (although she only came to his chin), and Roger, pudgy with easy living, just an inch taller but standing as though he was Erik's equal. Two little people trying to stand up to his much taller figure. The thought would have made him laugh if he wasn't so furious.

"Yes, who are you?" Although Jane's question had a different meaning than how Roger interpreted it, his support helped.

Erik paused, 'What am I to Jane?'

He shook the feeling away and found anger, an easy emotion for him, "That does not matter. Jane has an obligation to the Opera Populaire and she's been neglecting her responsibilities."

Her eyes met his and for a moment, they stared each other down, trying to dominate. Roger started to fidget as the seconds stretched where neither spoke. Finally, Jane sighed heavily and touched her friend's hand as he opened his mouth to retort, "No, Roger dear, it's fine. Erik's right, I've been neglecting my cleaning duties."

Erik added, without thinking, "And your care for Christine."

Jane flinched and in her anger, a dark cloud seemed to fall over her face. The nightmare from her first night played in her mind like a broken music box. To keep quiet, she bit her cheek so hard, she started to bleed in her mouth. A comforting squeeze from Roger helped ground her.

"Of course," Was all she could get out.

Reluctantly, Roger started to walk away, "I'll go get your cloak then. I'll send for your suitcase on the morrow." Roger didn't want to leave Jane alone with Erik but he wanted to keep himself from saying something he'd regret.

After the innkeeper left the room, Erik snapped his head back to Jane, "Why didn't you come back?"

"I have my reasons." She wasn't looking at him and a hand covered her mouth. Without another word, she sat back down to watch the fire.

Rage flared in the back of his skull and he snatched her out of the chair, holding her by the shoulders as he shook her, "Why?!"

Of all the things he expected from Jane, tears was not one of them. They coursed down her pale face, her eyes glared out at him with such anger, and yet such sadness, that all he could do was stare back.

Panic started to set in when he noticed blood seeping out of the corner of Jane's mouth.

"Jane?" His voice was quiet, vulnerable.

Roger's voice screeched behind him, "You're hurting her!" Startled, he let go of Jane who landed in a heap on the faded rug.

The innkeeper pushed past the shocked Phantom to the prone body of his friend on the floor.

"Jane, mon ami, look at me!" A stained handkerchief was hastily pulled out of Roger's worn vest to dap at the blood on her exchange pulled at Erik's chest in a painful way, as though he had been punched without the violence, only it hurt just as much, perhaps more. There were things he still didn't know about Jane, even after all these years.

Her voice was shaky, "I'm alright, Roger, I'm alright. Just help me up please." Holding her waist in a way that made Erik's chest squeeze tighter than he thought possible, Roger helped her stand and put on the previously discarded cloak. She started speaking without looking at him.

"How are we returning?" She couldn't call it home just yet.

Suddenly, Erik was embarrassed, as he hadn't thought of a carriage and he noticed the puddles he was creating on the rug.

Clearing his throat, he looked at the fire, "We walk." She nodded her response.

"Are you sure you don't want me to call you a carriage?" Roger was now glaring at Erik who refused to look at either of them.

The smallest smile, one Erik thought was just for him, graced her face while facing the small, pudgy man. His chest squeezed again.

"No Roger, dear," Erik flinched at the endearment, "I'll be alright."

They embraced in front of the door and kissed cheeks, Erik had to look away. "I'll be waiting outside."

Jane shook her head wearily before turning once more to her friend, "Promise me you'll write. I want to hear about David, you know." Roger simply blushed in response.

—

The walk to the Opera Populaire was silent, Jane frustrated with Erik, and Erik not knowing what to say. He couldn't understand why she was angry, he had rescued her, right? He glanced at her every so often, but her expression didn't change from one of weary disappointment.

Things were still quiet when they reached their home, if she could call it that anymore. The rain and Erik's rude "rescue" had soured her mood and she tended to the dramatic when she was angry.

She didn't protest when he removed her cloak, but instead went right to her bedroom and closed the door. She had never closed the door except to change, and he had a sinking feeling she wasn't going to come out in a new frock.

Nevertheless, now that the pieces of his life were back together, he could focus on composing. He went to sit at his organ, but his head started to swim and candlelight danced like snakes on the crooked walls of the caves. He heard Jane's voice before his mind and body gave into darkness.


	9. Delirium

The fever chapter, short but sweet and a little angsty. Please, I have no beta and no one to help me bounce ideas around. At the end of the chapter, I explain the poll where my readers can vote on what ending they would like to read and once I get enough votes, I will upload the ending. Or, I'll leave it like this, that's an option. Anyway, thank you for your patience!

/

When he awoke, he was in his bed, his shirt was unbuttoned, and his mask was off. Why was his mask off? Where was Jane? Why was he so cold? All these questions whirled around until his head throbbed and panic squeezed his chest relentlessly. He thought he would surely die from grief until Jane walked in and he relaxed, closing his eyes again, she would take care of him. She sat next to his bed and began to change the cloths that cooled his body. She was happy he was finally awake but worried nonetheless. Madame Giry told her that he had barely eaten or slept while she was gone.

Erik had fallen into sickness and a fever tore through his body, throwing him into a state of delirium. Due to his lifestyle and the exposure to the horrible things in the gypsy world, he was prone to illness and was quick to get worse.

Jane worked hard to cool his fever, "keep him hydrated, fed, and clean," was her mission.

Since her coming in, he opened his eyes again and started to panic, "Mon Ange, where are you?" His glossy eyes searched the room.

A small, sad sigh slipped through her lips, even with all the care she provides him, he still seeks out the diva, "She's not here, mon phantom." She stirred his porridge and turned his head so she could feed him. She had to focus and not let her broken heart distract her.

His expression brightened when his eyes landed on her, "There you are. I missed you. Please don't leave me again mon ange."

So he thought her Christine. It felt like her heart was breaking all over again. But she couldn't deny him, doing so would only make his delirium worse.

She would play along, "I'm not going anywhere, mon amour, I'm always here." She laid her hand on the disfigured side of his face. He surprisingly leaned into it, sighing heavily.

"Your touch soothes my soul, mon ange, I wish I could keep this feeling forever."

A small spark of hope burned in her chest. Perhaps if she gave into temptation, all thought of Christine would be banished and he would only see her. Taking a chance, Jane moved closer, "You could…"

His eagerness was childlike, "Really? How?"

Softly and slowly, Jane leaned down and kissed the delirious man. She felt him gasp against her lips and his hand came to rest on the back of her head. It was different than when Lea kissed her. That had been a rush of lust that flooded her body and left her breathless. If that was crazy, then this was madness. The way his lips molded with hers, his touch on her head, she thought her heart would burst in her chest with love. But she couldn't let it go too far or she would never stop. Before it could get any deeper, she pulled away.

Erik's eyes sparkled in sickness and happiness. She knew that was his first kiss and while it hurt that he thought her Christine, there was a twinge of smugness that she had it nonetheless.

She got up to leave when his hand shot out to grab her arm, his face was twisted with fear, "Don't leave me again mon ange." There was so much desperation in his voice that she nearly collapsed in his waiting arms, only to never leave again and proclaim her everlasting love. She had to distance herself, it wasn't her he wanted.

No matter who he thought she was though, it warmed her heart that he needed her. She gave him a small smile and leaned over him as he relaxed, kissing his forehead "I just need to get your tea, mon amour, I won't be long." He let her go and the panicked look didn't disappear until her hand was in his again.

"May I have another kiss, mon ange?" His eyes begged Jane and it hurt her to say no.

"After you wake up mon cher."

With the blissful promise still ringing in his ears, Erik finished his tea and went to sleep. It ended up being the longest night of his fever, Jane running to the lake and back, changing the rags that cooled his forehead and praying for a miracle. Madame Giry came down occasionally to help but all they could really do was wait for the fever to break. His nightmares tormented him throughout the rages of the fever, his body twisting in the sheet while he cried out for his angel to save him. It nearly broke Jane to watch him. The tears never ceased their trail down her face as her love suffered before her.

Around 3 in the morning the next day, his fever finally broke and Jane almost collapsed with relief. It was a bittersweet victory, though. While she was ecstatic that the fever was gone, the whole night would be forgotten with it. The kiss, the sweet words he called her, and the love in his eyes would all be locked away for Jane to enjoy in the confines of her room. A single tear dripped down her face as she walked away from the bed, it was all the mourning she could do for those lost moments. The next morning it would be back to the same thing, his love for Christine, and her unspoken love for him.

Only…

He remembered.

—

Alright folks, with the conclusion of this chapter, I'm having a poll for what the ending should be. Please vote. I have two endings written but I want it to be what you guys want. Let me know if the link doesn't work. I'll have it open for a couple days after I post this chapter to allow folks to vote.

Due to fanfiction's apparent rules on Links, I have put the poll below. Comment your number in the comments section. I can't wait to see what the final answer is!

How should "Blind to the Light" end?

1\. Keep the cliffhanger

2\. Over a week of tension until Lea comes to take Jane away and Erik is faced with a choice.

3\. Questions are asked and answers are given through the passionate words of Christine and Raoul on the rooftop of the Opera. (All I ask of you)

4\. Surprise me!

5\. I want both available.

Thank you dears and I will see you soon. Happy voting!


	10. The Letter

Welcome back my dear readers! I know, I know, I've been gone and this looked like a dead fic but I pushed through and found my inspiration. AUTHOR'S WARNING: THIS HAS A LEMON IN IT. If you don't like lemons, read a different story. Some gentle reminders, this is my first lemon, and I have no beta. Other than that, please enjoy!

* * *

Days pass by, the air thick with tension and something unspoken. Neither spoke with the exception of the day's greetings. Erik was pondering the events that occurred while he was sick, and Jane was torn between her feelings for Erik, their kiss, the safety of Roger's home, and the adoration of Lady Dulone. She had begun to receive letters from said lady. Each one proclaimed her adoration for Jane and her wish to take her away from the opera house. She would provide for her, for every wish and whim that she desired. At first, Jane politely declined, but Erik's silence and the endless temptation that followed their kiss was beginning to wear on her.

Some mornings, Erik would stare at Jane with a strange look on his face, but they never spoke. Jane began to close in on herself, she slept away from home more often and withdrew into her mind.

While Christine and Jane never really got along in the first place, with the new silent development, the diva was even warier of the quiet stagehand. Jane would come in, pick up the clothes strewn about the room, help Christine dress and do her makeup without a word. At first, she was pleased, thinking the older woman had gotten the hint that Christine was in charge, but as the silence continued, she noticed the spark that had lit up Jane's unfortunately deep, beautiful eyes, was gone, leaving a shell in its wake. She feared Jane had gone off the deep end and would snap at any moment.

Madame Giry only mumbled something about lost souls when asked about Jane's strange behavior. Raoul didn't seem to take her seriously either.

"She's probably just accepted her place as your maid, Lottie"

"No Raoul, I really believe something went terribly wrong."

"Like what? I think the phantom scare has really rattled you, Christine. Please, go rest." He kissed her knuckles before turning away, "I'll see you tonight from my box, my dear."

"Raoul-" But he was already gone.

The only person left to turn to was the phantom, who had been surprisingly absent recently. Christine couldn't fathom how Jane and her angel of music were connected but he was her last hope at finding some answers. On the day of rehearsals, she called out to him, "Angel?"

The mirror clicked open and the tall, intimidating figure of her elusive teacher stepped out, "Yes, Christine?" His voice held a tone of strain, affecting the musicality of his deep baritone.

"My maid, Jane," At the mention of her name, a muscle in Erik's face twitched, "she's been acting strange as of late. She's not talking and I fear something has happened. Have you seen anything around the opera house?"

The opera ghost was silent for a long moment, seeming to weigh his options. He took a big, shaky breath before answering, "No, I haven't. Now, let's begin with the lesson."

As she ran through her scales, Christine studied her teacher. His broad shoulders, trim figure, and alluring voice would all have her swooning, if not for his hideous face. Unfortunately, Raoul was quite boyish and slender compared to her angel, the phantom, but he had money, a title, a handsome face, and they grew up as sweethearts despite Raoul only being a passable tenor. With a soft sigh, she decided that she would just have to suffice with that much.

After her scales and following solo, the usual praise never came. The Phantom gave a few critiques and left through the mirror once more. Christine was so stunned, she could only stare after him. He had never left without praising her, her voice, anything. Not only was something wrong with her maid, but now something was affecting her angel. But she was the only one who knew the reality of her angel…

That night, after another silent preparation, Christine sat numbly in front of her vanity. Raoul soon came bustling in with words of adoration for her performance, her voice, her beauty, and flowers, cards, and other delicacies falling from his manicured hands. The meaningless names of various admirers stared at her from the cards, some of expensive make, heavy embroidered paper, to those of cheap newsprint. Her suitors were many and from all walks of life, yet, among everything, the colorful flowers, elegant calling cards, she failed to spot her beloved rose with black ribbon. It was nowhere to be found. Had he forgotten? Had she done poorly? Thoughts plagued her young mind and distracted her from the efforts of her doting beau.

—-

Meanwhile…

Without the company of his friend, just a shell of a woman that wandered day in and day out, and the conflict in his mind, Erik became more strict with Christine and less praising. He knew he should be caring with his student, but her pining had begun to irritate him. Let her pine away with the Vicomte, it would save him the headache.

One day, it all came crashing down when Erik spotted a letter from Mademoiselle Dulone. It had been laying open on the drawing table, underneath, almost hidden, with a letter from that innkeeper, Roger. The first letter stated that David had accepted Roger's offer of partnership and had brought along his young daughter Millie. It wasn't of much interest to Erik, with the exception that he no longer had to worry about Jane accepting or denying his request, it had been done for her. A small smile twitched at his lips as the relief washed over him. He gently set the first letter aside, pushing thoughts of Roger and his intentions away.

The second letter was what troubled him, however. When he picked it up, he noted the quality of the paper and the swooping handwriting of the upper class.

My Dear,

I can wait no longer, I must have your answer. Happiness is only a letter away, yet I've heard nothing. You know you wouldn't want for anything, the world is yours, and I freely give it. A

place in society, balls, feasts, a day in the life of wealth, eagerly awaits your arrival, Jane, but only at my side.

It's become apparent that the phantom lacks the ability to satisfy you as I can. I hope you've seen, as I know you've tasted, the passion that lives between us, how on fire our bodies felt

together. I wish to see if we could make the world burn. You could have that, forever, Jane.

I want to bring you out of the darkness and into the light that shines so brilliantly down on Paris. The world is happening and I want you with me to share it.

By Hermes' wings, I wait for your answer. A better life is out there.

Yours Truly,

Lea Dulone

It was dated 3 days prior. Was that the reason for Jane's sudden reclusiveness? Was she preparing to leave him? His anger boiled as he waited for his friend to return home. Despite her retreat, there was a pattern to her stays on the surface and when she would come home. So, he waited.

The candles waned and the cave grew dim as time passed. Just as he was beginning to think she wasn't going to return, he heard her soft footsteps echo across the water.

When she appeared around the corner, he was momentarily taken aback by…her. Despite his anger concerning the letters, he felt his body react, his breeches started to tighten against his reaction to the beauty approaching him. She was accented by the soft glow of the candles, just like in the dressing room. Her womanly curves and round breasts highlighted everything and nothing. An unfamiliar tease that left Erik hungry for more. Unbidden, he felt his body tense in response and arousal warred against his rational mind. Christine was still just a girl, Jane was a woman. But his attention snapped once more to the letter as it fluttered in the breeze created as she walked by him.

"Jane." Her footsteps abruptly stopped behind him.

"Yes, Erik."

"Sit." Her chair, seated opposite of him, had been unoccupied for days, evident by the dust that danced around her as she plopped down, the image of indifference, but Erik knew better. Her eyes searched his, only to glance down and notice the letter.

Instead of accusing him of invading her privacy, she sighed calmly and locked eyes with him again. They stayed silent until Erik could no longer stand it.

"Why."

"Why what?"

"Don't play innocent with me Jane. You insult not only my intelligence, but your own."

"What do you think has happened?"

"That you've coerced with this…Lea, and are planning to leave me!" He had stood up at this point, pacing behind the chair like a restless animal. "First it was Roger, and now this. Are you truly that desperate to be away from me?" He was yelling now, each word echoing against the cave walls like a frenzied chorus.

"Erik, please, sit down and calm yourself. I'm not leaving, yet." Jane kept her hands folded carefully in her lap, though she wished more than anything to stand and stop his nervous pacing, wanted to feel his face in her hands. She knew she couldn't, for she did not fill that place in Erik's life.

The 'yet' caught Erik's attention. He sat down, albeit reluctantly, noticing how close their knees were to touching and chose to stare hard at a spot above her shoulder and ignore his racing pulse.

"Alright, are you ready to listen?" He gave her a curt nod.

Jane explained her amorous meeting, at one point getting carried away describing the emotion she had made her feel, with Lea and subsequent letters. Erik couldn't believe what he was hearing. His chest was tight with jealousy and heartache that almost broke him and he continued to shake with emotion until she asked him a question, her eyes finally meeting his.

"Why does this bother you so?" While she appeared calm, almost detached, outside, inside, her heart hammered in her chest, so loud she was sure Erik could hear. She wanted him to admit that he wanted her, needed it with a desperation unlike anything she had ever felt. He blinked owlishly at her and seemed to consider her. The dark pools of his eyes pulled her in. The tension, the desire in the room was thick and Jane's breath quickened in her breast. Unconsciously, they had leaned toward one another, Erik's cologne, musky and familiar, washed over her and heat pooled between her thighs.

His tongue poked out to wet his lips, and it was all Jane could do not to stare, "Jane, I-"

A voice answered from the mouth of the cave, "Because he's afraid of losing you, cherie."

Both Jane and Erik started at the voice. With a blush, she noticed how close they had become, his lips had only been inches from hers. She turned toward the mouth of the cave, "Lea!"

Erik's eyes followed Jane's and flinched at the appearance of his apparent rival. She was dressed impeccably, flowing skirts that spoke of carriage rides, dance parties, a socialite's dress, and enough cleavage to be enticing, yet still remain formal, a true beauty in the eyes of society. She stood behind Jane, placing a manicured hand on her shoulder. At her touch, Jane couldn't help but blush once more at the memory of where those hands had been on her.

His eyes flickered between the two, "Jane, what's happening?" Erik tried to not let his panic show, but his voice cracked at the end. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to discourage Jane and tell this woman never to write her again. Everything was happening too fast. They had been so close just a moment before, he had felt her desire and was almost touching her tempting body. Now that vision was disappearing before his very eyes.

Jane opened her mouth to respond, once again though, Lea stepped in, "She'll be leaving with me, monsieur Phantom." There was a sneer in her voice, but her face displayed none of this.

"But she has not yet responded to your missive, madame."

Her kohl-lined eyes narrowed, "Mademoiselle, if you please, monsieur."

"Mademoiselle." If she noticed the contempt in his voice, she didn't show it.

Dismissively, she brushed away an invisible hair from her neck, as though anything could leave the perfectly shaped chignon on her head, "It is no matter, I felt that Jane's decision was an obvious one." She placed one manicured finger under her chin and lifted Jane's face to hers, "So, I came to rescue my damsel."

"Lea." Jane's voice was weak under the intensity that her potential lover stared her down.

Erik watched the exchange and couldn't deny the attraction between them but was too stubborn to accept anyone but himself as Jane's love.

He was speechless and he could feel panic and anger warring in his mind, flaring into a headache. Lea's eyes caught his and the smug light that burned in her molten rises twisted like a knife in his chest. The woman was enjoying this. She thought she had the upper hand. With growing desperation, he realized there wasn't much he could do. He had lost without having begun. The years spent together had been wasted on his foolish obsession with the Swedish beauty who already had a doting beau.

He looked to Jane to gauge her reaction and was surprised to see she was already looking at him. He expected anger, smugness, indifference, anything that would further break his heart, instead, he saw fear, sadness. He realized Jane didn't want to go. Her body leaned back into Lea's but her eyes never strayed from his strong features. They called out to him, as though begging a question he couldn't hear.

Of course, the kiss, that wonderful kiss they shared while he was ill came to mind. She thought he had forgotten and was fleeing with Dulone to spare herself. An overwhelming combination of sadness and pride swept him away. How selfish, yet noble.

The pieces began to come together and a calm washed over him like a wave, he was back in control. He would be damned if he let her slip through his fingers. Mademoiselle Dulone might have had a taste of Jane's passion, but he had her heart and he was not fond of sharing.

He steepled his fingers under his chin and crossed his legs, locking eyes with Jane, "I see. How fortunate you should process such incredible deductive powers, Mademoiselle."

Jane's eyes widened in shock, then slumped back into the chair, toward Lea, she almost didn't notice the way her hand caressed the open arch of her neck, or the way Erik glared at the offensive appendage. He was just going to let her go. The final shreds of hope she was holding onto slipped away, leaving only emptiness. After all those years, he truly didn't care. She would always come second.

Lea grinned at him, a polite, practiced stretch of her lips, she knew he would see things her way. Soon, they would be rid of this phantom, this menace, and Jane would be hers. She would give her the life she deserved and she would never want for anything. A mistress for a mistress. No longer the consort of the ghost of the opera house. And she was sure Jane would forgive her for her transgressions once she discovered the pleasures of the life that awaited her.

A thought gave her pause, though. Jane's love for the man sitting in front of them. She took a moment to study him. Lea could admit that the strong features, thick thighs, and broad shoulders stirred heat in her body, but she was confident he couldn't provide the emotional understanding that only a woman could give. Even if she couldn't have her heart, she would take what she could get. Besides, Jane stated in her letters that he only ever talked of his compositions and Mademoiselle Daae.

Lea was once drawn to Christine Daae's beauty and talent, but her depth of passion seemed to stop after the curtains were drawn and the Viscount de Changy had left in his coach. In any case, it lead her to Jane Noir, one who was beautiful both inside and out. Life before Jane was bleak and monotonous, none of the marriage-hungry girls of society interested her and most wouldn't be caught at her home for fear of a ruined reputation. Now that Jane was there, Lea woke up excited for life and now that she was within reach, she wasn't going to let this ghoul of darkness keep her hidden from the world, from her.

Decision clear, she turned to lead Jane out of the dreary caves, but before she could leave, he spoke up again, deep baritone sliding over her body like a caress. Lea's eyes narrowed, this man was not to be trifled with, for despite his deformity, he knew what he was capable of.

"Before you leave, Mademoiselle, I should like a word with Ms. Noir." He gestured to his friend in an absentminded manner. As calmly as though they were simply discussing the weather.

The use of her surname made Jane sick to her stomach, this was really it. The kiss, his compassion, everything they had shared over the years was all a farce, his most cleverly composed opera, and she had fallen for every last bit of it.

Lea smirked, but remained cautious, this was the Phantom she as dealing with, but he was only making this easier, "Of course, monsieur." She turned to Jane, tracing a soft line on her cheek, "Go on, cherie. I will be waiting." Despite her caution, she was confident she would be the one walking away with Jane. He had pushed her away, now he would have to let her go.

After they stood and Jane followed his lead like a student awaiting punishment, Lea looked around the cave, a disapproving curl of her lip twisting her perfectly made-up face. A peculiar observation came to mind as she stared at the ceiling, something she noted as she exited the hackney and walked up the steps to the opera house, that night was one of a moonless sky.

A strangely cold breeze brought her thoughts back to her surroundings. She couldn't understand how Jane could live in that mess, in a cave no less. Soon, Jane would live in her townhouse and never know the grim realities of cold and damp. Perhaps they could even adopt a child, for she knew Jane was a creative, restless spirit and even though she wanted to pamper the woman, Lea knew Jane would be beside herself. Yes, a child would be perfect to direct Jane's attention. Lea soon became distracted with her thoughts and fantasies as the two disappeared behind a curtain. She was so focused that she didn't hear one of the mirrors lining the far wall open with a resounding 'click'.

Erik lead Jane into his room before he faced her, closing the curtain for privacy from the wolf in sheep's clothing wandering around his workspace. Jane's head was bowed, looking at her feet, an unusually submissive posture for her. They stood quietly before she spoke,

"Why did you bring me here?" Her voice was small, defeated.

His heart squeezed in his chest, knowing it was him that brought out this reaction. He had let her down.

Another moment, one that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. He was quiet for so long, seeming to bask in her misery. She couldn't bear to meet his gaze. To see the pity in his dark eyes, pity for her feelings for him. Jane thought it was some kind of cruel joke, where he brought her to his room, to show her what she could never have. It was too much. With the last shreds of her dignity, she lifted her chin and started to walk away when he finally spoke,

"Because I love you, mon ange."

A sob wrenched from her throat and Jane thought her heart would burst. Blood rushed to her cheeks, stealing her breath and tears stung her eyes, falling without permission, "You…you remember."

He took a step toward her, his eyes glimmered with emotion, "Everything."

Just as suddenly, her temper flared and she pushed him away, the tears seemed to burn hot with her anger, "But why now? Why not when you recovered? Are you just twisting my feelings to get back at Lea?" The informal use of the woman's name made Erik grimace, "What happens when you have me? Will I be tossed away once again?"

The questions hurt as they revealed his shortcomings, his failures to protect and provide for her. "I didn't know how to handle these emotions, my feelings for you. And your feelings for me," He raised his only eyebrow, "You haven't been completely honest with me either, mon ami."

Jane blushed but stood firm, "What about Christine?"

He wanted nothing more than to kiss away the crease between her eyebrows and take away all her pain.

A thoughtful look passed over Erik's face and Jane thought it was all over, she would always be second to the diva. She was horrified to think that her accusations about him using her could be true.

"Christine is my student. My love for her is as a father figure. I should have realized that sooner and avoided this whole mess. But," He paused, locking eyes with her, "My love for you… is undying."

Jane's heart stuttered in her chest as the tears continued to flow freely down her face, "Oh, Erik." Just a whisper through her trembling lips.

Slowly, his hand came up to wipe the tears away. When she finally looked at him again, he cradled her face and brought her close for a gentle kiss, one they would both remember. The kiss from his fevered memory was nothing compared to the feel of her lips against his right then. Pleasure washed over over his body, rushing from his lips to his neck, and down like a waterfall. It was torture and bliss, so addicting, he feared he could not stop. Her hands slid up his chest and fisted in the fabric of his shirt, putting all of her passion, all of her love, into the connection of their lips. The sensation made Erik gasp, leaving his mouth open for her tongue to slide in. Gasping, he pulled away, his chest heaving with emotion. Jane looked up at him with wide eyes, rejection squeezing at her chest, "Do you not like that?"

She lowered her gaze, to her hands, still fisted in his shirt, this couldn't happen now, not when she'd already given this much.

Erik studied Jane, his confidant for all these years, the only person who truly accepted his face, his temper, his waves of inspiration, and now she was offering her heart, her forever. With his fingers, he tilted her chin up to face him. Without answering her question, his lips touched hers once more and he slid his hands up her bodice, swallowing her gasp and dancing with her tongue. Her breath started to come in short gasps as she pushed close enough to feel his excitement.

"Jane, please." He didn't quite know what he was asking for, but he needed it more than anything.

"What do you need, my love?" Her hand traced the mask before gently pulling it away. Her eyes and fingers followed every dip, every mark on his face. His eyes fluttered closed at her touch. The pleasure continued to build until he could no longer bear it. With a growl that sent shivers down her spine and pooled between her thighs, Erik pulled Jane against him, grinding his pulsing need against her core. Both gasped at the sensation. While Jane was no blushing virgin, it had been years since another man had touched her. Even her experience with Lea had been lacking in the passion that sparked between her and Erik.

Fueled by the look of abandon on her face, Erik twisted them toward the bed, the beautiful swan bed that he should have shown her ages ago. He never felt the urge to sleep with Christine when she was down there. Now, he couldn't imagine a night without Jane by his side. He watched, mesmerized, as her hair spilled out on the silk sheets like a halo. She really was his angel and a part of him wanted to sketch that moment, to immortalize it, but he had a feeling he would get more chances later.

"Oh mon ange, you're too beautiful for words."

A tear slipped down her face as she gazed back up at him, "Erik, show me."

As they kissed once more, his hands wandered over her body, trying to memorize every curve, which was becoming increasingly difficult with clothes on. Jane realized this first, "I want to see all of you."

Erik's heart hammered in his chest, not only would he see Jane naked, but she would see him. Instead of the fear or shyness he was expecting, arousal surged through him and it was all he could do not to rip their clothes off. As he watched her unlace her dress, he imagined another time when they would slowly strip one another, but now was not that time.

Bare to one another, Erik could only stare. Jane's body, strong and soft from work at the opera house, the cold air from the catacombs spread gooseflesh along her arms and his eyes were drawn to her round breasts which tightened under his gaze. He felt like a wild predator, sizing up the prey he was about to devour.

Jane was dying. Under that loose shirt, were rippling muscles and a heavy erection that twitched under her own curious gaze. Erik was a dangerous male specimen. As his hungry eyes devoured every inch of exposed skin, her body responded. Her nipples hardened, aching for his touch, and her core pulsed with arousal. If that was what happened without them touching, she felt she would explode when they did touch.

"Erik," his name was a breath on her cherry lips and he sprung into action like wild animal. Their lips locked while his hand touched her aching breasts. While his arousal nearly blinded him, this was still new to Erik. Gone was the phantom, here was the man, flesh and blood that yearned for the only woman he ever truly loved.

Her hands fluttered over his arms, overwhelmed by the sheer strength Erik possessed, but she needed him to touch her where she ached the most. "Erik, I-"

"What, my precious?" Her breath stuttered at the endearment. While words escaped her, she took one of his hands and lead it to the mess of curls between her legs. It was all he could do not to stare as his calloused fingers traced her velvet lips. As he grazed a small nub, Jane's body quivered in his arms.

He laid her down on the silk sheets once more and lowered his head between her thighs. Her scent drew him in like a moth to a flame and his mouth watered. He had seen Joseph Buquet partake in tasting a woman but thought the deed unusual and unsanitary. Faced with Jane's flower, he could hardly wait to taste.

Watching her face, he slowly placed the flat of his tongue against her sex and licked. Her gasp was sweet music and her flavor burst on his taste buds. It was tangy, sweaty, and Jane. He wanted more. More tastes, more sounds, more pleasure. Gripping her thighs, Erik drove his tongue into her folds, ripping a cry from Jane's slender throat. He continued to devour her most sacred place until she cried to stop. His eyes met hers, gauging her reaction.

Staring into Erik's questioning eyes, her juices covering his face almost broke her resolve, "Erik, I need more." His answer was only a slight head tilt. She sat up and pulled him up with her, "I need you inside me." His eyes widened to a comical size as he processed her request, "Jane, I-"

"I'll show you, mon amour." She moved them around until he was settled between her legs and his pulsing member was lined up with her sex. Their eyes met, Erik's still unsure but trusting. "Now, push into me."

He didn't know what to expect but the tight warmth and Jane's sigh of pleasure were last on the list. He felt a pressure building in his loins that needed to be released.

"Are you ready?"

"Always."

Just as he had seen Buquet do on multiple occasions and was often mimed in the various operas, he started thrusting in and out of her welcoming heat. Jane's body arched into his, "Harder, Erik, faster, give me everything!"

Soon he was slamming into her body, swallowing her beautiful cries with open-mouthed kisses.

"Erik! I'm-"

Her channel started to squeeze his member until he could no longer bear it. Something primal took over and he buried himself deep in Jane, joining her in bliss. After the moment passes and they caught their breath, they looked into each other's eyes.

"I love you, Jane."

"As I love you Erik."

What they failed to notice was the flutter of the curtain and the strangled gasp that followed.

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Oh my poor Lea. Please don't hate me readers, the next chapter is for Lea!


	11. Mirrors Can be Doors Too

The LAST chapter. It's bittersweet for me, readers. One: I got to finish my most popular story and two: I had to finish my most popular story. I'm in love with these characters, but I know I must move on. I have one other fully written POTO story that I will work on a get uploaded in a more timely fashion. Everyone has been so supportive in kicking my ass and keeping me on track. Anyway, enjoy!

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Startled by what she just witnessed, Lea stumbled back until her legs hit the armchair Jane had just been sitting in. She was gone. The phantom had played his final card and ensnared Jane for good.

How could she compete with the man that obviously had her heart?

At the thought, Lea's own chest squeezed with an unfamiliar ache. And for the first time in over 12 years, she felt tears sliding down her slender cheeks. The one person that made her happy was gone and she was stuck on the other side of the curtain. A quiet sob shook her body as she gave in to the emotions that she had since repressed.

Her turmoil consumed her in such a way that she didn't notice the figure that quietly stepped out from behind one of the mirrors and toward her shaking form. A hand gently touched her shoulder and wise green eyes met hers, "Mademoiselle, are you quite alright?"

Lea gasped and jerked back in the chair, started by the woman in front of her. Worn but well-made fabrics formed to the woman's athletic frame. She remembered seeing her speaking with the reporters as Madame Giry, ballet instructor and previous Prima Ballerina.

Quickly, she pulled out her handkerchief and started dabbing her running makeup.

"Ah, well, yes, I—"

A firm hand stilled her shaking ones, "Please, you're only making it worse." She gave Lea a thoughtful look, "Let me."

Gently, Madame Giry started wiping away the makeup, revealing Lea's gentle pink skin underneath. Splotches of red marred her cheeks due to her sudden release of emotion. With almost absentminded care, Giry brushed away the stray hairs that clung to Lea's damp face.

Lae started at the woman in front of her. Laugh lines and crows feet played at the edges of Giry's refined face. She had aged like a fine wine, but sadness pulled the strings behind this tower of strength. Lea was drawn in.

"Beautiful." The whisper slid past her lips and caressed the older woman's face. Giry's eyes widened as they locked with Lea's. A blush crept up on her face and her delicate hands covered her cheeks like a fresh debutante. "My goodness, the things you say."

Lea gently touched her hands, "What is your name?"

Giry cleared her throat and tried to concentrate on cleaning the rest of the woman's face, "Antoinette Giry."

"Antoinette." It purred off her tongue and that blush bloomed on Giry's face again.

"And yours, Mademoiselle?"

"Lea Dulone."

"Why are you in the catacombs, Lea?"

She could listen to Antoinette say her name forever, but the reminder of the woman behind the curtain made her smile falter.

"I thought I was here to start anew. I thought I was in love. Only…I do believe I've made a fool of myself." The tears flowed once more down her face, only caught by Antoinette's gentle hands. The ballet instructor turned to the curtain to Erik's room and a woman's breathy moan echoed around them, the pieces fit together.

She looked back at the lady, for that was what she most definitely was, and felt her heart reach out to her. While she was happy Erik and Jane finally saw through their differences, it seemed to be at the expenses of Lady Dulone's heart.

"Come along my dear. Let's go get you a nice cup of tea and a warm blanket."

Lea looked up at the woman and the hand she was offering. A small, genuine smile curled at her lips and to Antoinette, she looked beautiful.

"I'd like that."


End file.
